


darling, you're a masterpiece

by jessiicaa



Category: Larry - Fandom, One Direction
Genre: Art, Art AU, Gay, M/M, Sex, larry - Freeform, larry stylinson - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-25
Updated: 2015-12-27
Packaged: 2018-05-03 08:13:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5283383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessiicaa/pseuds/jessiicaa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis' life is falling apart and he doesn't know what his next step is, that is until he stumbles in to an art gallery one rainy london day and finds himself lost in a new and exciting world.</p><p>or, the one where louis didn't really like art until he met a boy who made him feel like he was a masterpiece.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. sunflowers and gold.

**Author's Note:**

> ahh hey so this is my first chapter of my new larry fic and um yeah, its gonna get better dont worry aha

Louis wasn’t sure what he was doing on such a dismal rainy day. Usually he would be at home, lounging on his couch that, in everybody else’s opinion was far too old and flat to be considered a comfortable seat. Louis disagreed. So here he was, padding aimlessly around the, somewhat empty, Trafalgar square. The few people who were around him, had umbrellas, or at least, suitable clothing, Louis however, was still in a ripped denim jacket, matched with a white t-shirt, a hole just above the hem on the left-hand side. Nor did Louis have an umbrella, or socks, or anything actually that could have possibly kept him dry from the British showers.

If he had wanted to dry off, Louis could just go in to the national gallery. It literally was just a stone’s throw away from where he was currently sitting, on the wall of the fountain, bare ankles crossed and hands leaning either side of his body. But then again, why would he want to go in to the gallery? Louis never did really understand art, all he could see was colours, and none of this nonsense that supposed experts rambled about for hours on end. There really was no point. Louis really should have been at home, but there was nothing for him at home. In fact, Louis’ life had pretty much fallen apart in the last few months. So he didn’t suppose it really mattered if he got a bit wet, or if he got a cold, he wouldn’t really mind, it might have given him a reason to go home to his parents for a few weeks, without seeming like a total basket case. The thing with Louis though, was that he was so painfully self-aware. He even had two mental lists; one for personality flaws and one for positive traits. Things even switched lists from day to day but the flaws list was always five traits longer than the positive one. You see, it wasn’t that he viewed himself as a bad person, he knew he wasn’t, it was just that everyone around him was so much better, so much more important and worthy, or so he thought.

The rain picked up as he stared at the ornate bricks by his feet. The drops of rain was heavily pelting against the water in the fountain just behind him, as well as on his head, like hail stones, miniature bullets flicking his skin a hundred times over. Seemingly, he had run out of options and pulled himself to his feet. Louis quickly walked up the many stairs that led to the large pillars guarding the gallery. He couldn’t believe he had sunk so low as to walk around empty halls filled with art. But yet, here he was, now enveloped in the warm glow of the gallery, the soft carpet beneath his soles.

It wasn’t as busy as he had imagined. There were almost no art snobs. However, the people who were there, glanced at him wearily, probably wondering why the boy was soaked, drenched from head to toe, raindrops rolling down the curve of his cheek bone, strands of hair stuck damply to his glistening forehead. He noticed their stares and took them in mind as he pushed his fingers through his hair, making it stick up ever so slightly. He wiped his hands on his wet jeans, failing to make anything any dryer before starting to walk through the gallery, turning in to a room. With every step Louis took, he winced and flinched. For when you sit out in the rain for so long, your shoes get so wet that they squeak, and now with each step, Louis’ shoes squeaked, bouncing and echoing through the halls, causing more and more people to glance at the boy with the singing shoes. He tried to ignore the attention he was rapidly attracting and instead looked at the pieces on the wall; they were big obnoxious works of art, framed in intricate gold, given a spotlight and a red rope because god forbid anybody touch them.

He didn’t understand any of the art. People were gasping at a painting of a man standing rather professionally with his hand resting against a globe. Yeah, the picture was okay, Louis thought to himself. He certainly couldn’t have done it. But, nonetheless he still didn’t know what the big deal was. So Louis continued to walk on, down little corridors, pasted with paintings and red ropes. 

After a while of blindly roaming the gallery, Louis sat down on one of the plush benches that were placed in the middle of the halls. Louis wasn’t in a hurry to leave, now that he was warm, he didn’t really want to go outside again.

He crossed his arms and stared at the painting in front of him. This one he had seen before. Not because he visits it often, but he just knew it, although couldn’t really figure out why it was so famous. Anyone could paint flowers. As Louis stared at the piece in front of him, a puzzled look knitting his eyebrows together, and causing crinkles to form in the gap between his eyes, he felt someone stand behind him. Louis ignored it, there were probably a lot of people who wanted to look at the painting.

“Van Gogh’s Sunflowers, hey?” The voice said slowly. Louis turned his body and stared up at the owner of the voice. The boy wore a loose black silk shirt with leather cuffs and tight black jeans. However, he seemed to get better looking the more Louis looked. His rich chocolate hair that tousled with griminess promised some sort of finesse and he had strong arched brows and eyelashes so thick, it could have been illegal. But then Louis noticed his eyes- they were deep and catastrophic, a vivid ocean green, flickering with turquoise and amber. This close, Louis could see the flecks of silver, too. He had distinct cheekbones and an angular jaw, his pale skin made him look devilishly handsome, and at this point, Louis knew he wasn’t bothered about his soaking wet shoes.


	2. teas and coffees

“I don’t know about Van Gogh, but I can see its sunflowers.” Louis shrugged and tried desperately to ignore the blush that was creeping up on to his cheeks as the boy sat beside him, thigh brushing against his own.

“I get the feeling you don’t know much about art?” the boy said and ran his slender fingertips through his hair. Louis found himself watching in a state of awe as the boys hair fell back on to his shoulders. Louis gave his head an involuntary shake.

“What is there to know?” He chuckled obliviously. He was beginning to wonder what he’d got himself in to. A conversation with an arty? When Louis woke up this morning, despite how much of a hangover he may have been nursing, a conversation with an uptight art loving hippy was not something he had planned for. The boy looked at Louis, frozen in shock and also a hint of disgust- baffled by the fact that somebody could be so oblivious. “Looks like I’m going to have to give up my entire day and be your tour guide, aren’t i?” the boy smiled, his lips curling at the edges with a smile, brimming with innocence as Louis stared at him hesitantly before giving up and nodding. 

“Now, you see, Yellow was an emblem of happiness for Van Gogh.” The boy said as Louis furrowed his eyebrows before realising what he was talking about and formed an ‘o’ with his mouth before nodding. “And in Dutch literature, the sunflower was a symbol of devotion and loyalty, but also, when decaying, they remind us of the cycle of life and death.” The boy said, staring at the painting and talking as if reading it off a piece of paper- something he had rehearsed a thousand times over.

“So you’re telling me, this Van guy didn’t just wake up one morning and fancy painting the sunflowers that were on his window ledge?” Louis asked puzzled, running his hand through his hair before scratching the back of his neck confused. The boy looked at Louis again and laughed, shaking his head. “Well, how are you to know all of this anyway?” Louis huffed, disgruntled as he folded his arms over his chest.

“Well… studying art history for three and a half years does kind of you... you know, educate you on the subject.” The boy mumbled as Louis once again made a silent ‘o’ with his mouth and nodding. He forgot that people actually spent money on university these days, let alone 27 grand on the history of art, of all things.

“Right then.” Louis said and pulled himself to his feet- the boy copied. Louis felt his eyes widen ever so slightly when he realised how much the art expo rose above him. The boy towered above Louis, creating a brand new angle of his beauty as Louis cleared his chest.

“You alright down there?” the boy chuckled as Louis screwed up his face disapprovingly and looked away. He was always being teased about his height; he wasn’t that small, it just so happened that all his friends were well in to the 6ft range and Louis was…well… not.

“I don’t enjoy art as it is, and if you decide to keep making digs at me, I’ll just leave.” Louis huffed as the boy pouted slightly, and shoved Louis with his arm gently. Louis glanced up at him and admired the soft smirk playing on his lips. “Fine.” Louis sighed as the boy grinned, taking Louis’ arm and dragging him around the gallery as if he knew it like the back of his hand. The boy seemed to be very extroverted- a bit too friendly for Louis’ liking, but at the same time, it was endearing and Louis didn’t actually mind it all that much. After what felt like a lifetime of traipsing around the gallery ten times over, the boy finally came to a halt in front of a painting that Louis definitely did not recognise it, although the colours were quite nice, he thought. “So what’s so special about this one?” Louis sighed and ran his fingers through his hair tiredly- it had dried up from the rain and now felt course and quite unpleasant.

“Madonna Del Prato.” The boy breathed out, staring at the painting in a state of love and fondness, his lips curled in to a tiny smile as his fingers twitched. Louis furrowed his eyebrows and glanced at the plaque next to the painting, it was by someone called Giovanni in 1505. Louis widened his eyes slightly.

“Madonna? The singer kid?” He asked as the boy looked at him and rolled his eyes heavily and shook his head.

“As in the virgin Mary,” He murmured as Louis sighed and nodded. “I mean look at this, this was painted 500 years ago, and it’s still here… intact, and look at the colours, and the expression on her face,” he rambled on. The boy seemed to ramble along- as if he couldn’t stop himself but Louis couldn’t help but listen, he found the boys voice actually quite therapeutic.

“It’s alright I s’pose.” Louis shrugged and shoved his hands in to the pockets of his jacket, furrowing his eyebrows as he felt crumpled up, damp tissues and lint at the bottom of them. “I mean, I don’t really get art mate.” He shrugged again and looked up.

“You don’t have to understand something to love it.” The boy sighed and started to walk away again as Louis followed him, jogging slightly to keep up with the boys wide strides before panting slightly and walking beside him- overworking his legs to keep up with the boys pace you.

“How ‘bout I buy you a coffee?” Louis asked and looked up at the boy as he walked out of the gallery, jogging down the steps as Louis followed, pulling his jacket over his head to guard himself from the rain- the boy on the other hand didn’t seem to mind as much, in fact, he pretty much embraced the weather and took it quite majestically.

“I don’t drink coffee.”

Louis frowned and nodded, pulling his jacket further over himself as he began to slow down, drifting back from the boy so that they could go their separate ways. This was a new low for Louis, picking up guys at art galleries, of all places. He’d only been broken up with Liam, for what? Three weeks? 

As Louis tried to increase the distance between himself and the art kid, the boy stopped and turned around, looking at Louis with a disappointed face as he jogged back to him and held out his hand teasingly. “I do like tea though.” He winked.


	3. Dusty Shores

They walked shoulder to shoulder, along the rainy street. It was still isolated- so to speak, deserted in another phrase. But Louis and the boy were walking along quietly, in a state of content- the silence wasn’t uncomfortable, nor was it unwelcomed, but it was just, nice. Looking down at his feet as they walked, Louis took in the stranger’s shoes and found his lips curling in to a sort of smile as he looked at the pointed toe and heeled base. Louis then compared the shoes to his own, a ratty, dirty old pair of converse, the shoelaces no longer matches and they were fraying at the edge, but Louis had had these shoes for as long as he could remember- he couldn’t think of a time where they hadn’t fit him.

“What am I supposed to call you then?” The boy asked, looking down at Louis as if he were talking to a very small child. Around the boy, Louis did feel small, tiny, in comparison to him, and it wasn’t the most thrilling of reveals.

“Louis.” He murmured and gave his shoulders a slight shrug as he turned down a corner, of which the boy missed- making him take a few steps back and then continue to follow Louis. Louis noticed the boy’s silence and glanced at him, raising his eyebrow ever so slightly. “And… am I supposed to call you?” he asked, his voice full of questioning.

“Oh,” The boy chuckled softly as the sound radiated in the back of his throat slightly. “M’Harry.” He said gently and stared down at Louis with a slight smile. “But, you can call me Goddess.” The boy, Harry teased, raising his eyebrows slightly, hoping Louis would laugh. Louis bit his lip, raising his eyebrows in a laugh as he nodded. “That’ll do.”

After walking for another short stretch, Louis grinned, stopping outside the café that had nursed him many a hangover and served bacon sandwiches in hours of the morning you’d have thought would still be considered dinner time. 

“We’re eating here?” Harry asked, his eyes widened. Louis could almost see his breath hitch at the sight of the grimy café- but to Louis, it was home; tucked away in one of the many backstreets of London town. “Can’t we go to somewhere proper?”

“Thought you only wanted tea.” Louis smirked, pushing open the door that was etched with a sheet of cardboard, covering the shattered glass in the frame. The bell chimed and the grubby man behind the counter looked up and almost grinned at the sight of Louis before checking his watch. “It’s a bit early to be drunk, in’it son?” The man asked with a thick Scottish accent. Louis bit down on his lip and glanced at Harry before shaking his head.

“Not drunk.” He murmured, walking to a table for two as he watched Harry pull out a chair and inspect it before sitting down and holding his hands in his lap. “Can I have two tea’s Kev?” Louis asked, pulling a crumpled fiver out from his pocket and handing it to the man as he grunted and went to work.

Louis took his place opposite Harry and smiled. “Not too bad, right?” he asked as Harry shrugged. “I’d prefer the gallery.” He murmured slightly, clearly displeased with Louis’ choice. 

“Well, the art gallery don’t serve tea as good as this does.” Louis grinned, desperate to see the curly haired boy smile again. Which he did, when two cups of tea were set on the table, liquid spilling over the sides slightly. Louis watched intently as Harry brought the cup to his lips and breathed in the warm steam, his eyes fluttering closed as he took a sip of the warm liquid and let out a sigh; slouching back in the chair. “That is good.” He murmured quietly as Louis felt his foot brush with his own. He chuckled and nodded, satisfied as he gulped the tea down, ruffling his damp hair.

Harry looked up from the mug and smiled at Louis tiredly. Now Louis looked at him, the boy did look quite exhausted- and if he looked bad, Louis didn’t dare think about what he looked like- he hadn’t slept for nearly 48 hours, hadn’t been home in nearly three days. Home, if that place even existed anymore. He wasn’t sure if it was his home anymore. Liam was probably going to claim it now, live there with his new happy little family- now that he was done with his dirty piece on the side.

Louis watched as Harry traced his finger along the side of the table they were sat at and then inspected the dust on his finger. You could see him trying to ignore it- really trying, but Louis still caught him wiping it with his sleeve before looking out the grubby window, bouncing his leg in succession to the faint music that played with a tinny effect from the kitchen.

“Do you live far from here?” Harry asked as he glanced down at his shirt, buttoning it up ever so slightly before looking back up at Louis and awaiting his reply. Except, Louis didn’t really know how to answer that. The boy was far too good looking to know the truth- that technically, Louis was homeless, for the time being. “I’m, well, actually im sort of between places at the moment.” Louis murmured, instantly dropping his eyes down to his lap as he slouched back in his seat and puffed his cheeks out. Harry watched inquisitively. He knew exactly what Louis meant and instantly felt guilty for even bringing it up.

“Ah, moving house?” Harry said, trying to make Louis feel a bit better, trying to make up for being such an utter fool. Louis looked up from his hooded eyes and gave a childish smirk as he nodded. He knew. And so did Harry. “So, where to next?” Harry asked and stared at the bottom of his empty cup, trying desperately to ignore the stains. 

“You want to do more?” Louis asked, crossing his arms over his chest as he bit down on his lip- intrigued with the idea that this boy wanted to spend more time with him.

“Well, what sort of a date would it be, if we didn’t?” Harry asked, chewing the inside of his cheek as he stared at Louis; his eyes challenging him, in an endearing way.

“This is a date now, is it?” Louis asked, blush creeping up on his cheeks as he stood up and cocked his head towards the door as Harry chuckled, nodding to himself as he followed Louis- stopping by the door and thanking the Scottish man behind the counter.

“Where are you taking me to, then?” Harry asked, jogging up to reach Louis as he chuckled and shook his head slightly, reforming the shape of his hair. Louis was taken aback by the boy- he had known him no more than a few hours, yet he seemed confident and witty with Louis, like he was an old friend- an accomplice from long ago, perhaps.

“Well?” Harry asked again, nudging Louis slightly and grinning. Louis knew London like the back of his hand- he ought to have known somewhere he could take the energetic boy, but yet, his mind seemed to be that of a blank canvas- empty.

Louis kept on walking as if he knew where he was going- he did this a lot and had become very good at it. The boy bounced along beside him, swaying his head side to side slightly in harmony to his strides. 

“Are you gay, Harry?” Louis asked quietly and looked to him. He wasn’t in the means of being messed around, even it were only for a one night stand. Louis didn’t want to be fooled, not again.

For a brief second, Harry seemed to stop, his eyes glazed as if reliving something that might have happened long ago, an encounter, of some sort. If only Louis had noticed the distance in Harry’s eyes for that split second, and brushed the question off, if only he hadn’t waited for an answer. “Does it matter?” Harry asked, rather shortly, still staring ahead of him, following the winding streets of the rainy town. “I mean, why can’t we just be?!” he added. “What if I don’t want to be straight, or gay, what if I just want to be me?” he asked, his voice short and strained. 

Louis felt his mouth dry out at Harry taut response. He shoved his hands in to his pockets and nodded, staring at the ground quietly, which Harry accepted and pretty much, did the same. It was getting late now, not too late to dismiss the hopes of a possible one night stand, but late enough for Harry to be wanting to go home, the sun was beginning to set and with the rain that the sky had endured today, it had turned in to an array of colours, varying from purple to orange, pink to blue.

Louis walked out of a side street, and sure enough, found himself along the river back, a sandy tide with the river washing up to the shore tiredly, stretching too and thro. 

“The river?” Harry asked quietly and looked around. He’d never actually been on the river shore- he didn’t think people were allowed, he’d only ever been over bridges and leant against railings. 

“Yes, the river.” Louis murmured and sat on the shore. He’d never been away from London, the river bank to him, was his own personal beach. He brought his knees up slightly and stared at the lapping water that just missed his feet, before glancing back at Harry, letting out a heavy sigh as he watched Harry debate with himself, whether to sit down or not.

“Just sit down.” Louis breathed out heavily, running his fingers through his hair, again. To be fair, the ground was a little damp, and Louis could feel it resonating through his jeans, but he didn’t really care.

Harry looked at Louis before crouching down beside him and pressing the back of his hand to the ground, as if testing it. 

“It’ll ruin my pants.” Harry sighed, his lips pouting ever so slightly. This made Louis’ chest feel warm, suddenly, as if it had been ignited by a wonderfully soft glow. He let out a chuckle at Harrys naivety and gave him a slight shove, letting him stumble on to the ground and stretch out his legs- the pointed shoes Louis had been admiring earlier, now immersed in foamy water.

“Hey..” Harry whined, drawing back his feet and attempting to dry the shoes with the sleeve of his shirt. Like a child, Louis kept his head down and tried to conceal his laugh. Harry glanced at him and caught his curling lips as he pouted, before bursting in to a smile himself and laughing. 

Louis liked his smile.


	4. His hands

Louis didn’t know how long they sat on his little shore, nor can he remember exactly what they spoke about, but now, the sun had set and the sky was dark, littered with the constellations of a thousand stars. The lights of the city were dimming, in and out, people living their lives, leaving their offices and going home.

The two had fallen in to a spell of silence and all one could hear was the gentle rolling of the shore and the cars passing up above them on the road. Louis looked to Harry and admired what he looked like. He had looked at him, plenty throughout the day, but now, with the moon shining a glorious glow on to the side of his face, illuminating the shadow and the curves of his jaw, Louis could really look at him, and decipher every single mark that etched his skin.

Louis couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from Harry, and the way his hair framed his face and fell loosely by his shoulders. He had the kind of face that stopped you in your tracks. Louis guessed he must be used to that, the sudden pause in a person’s natural expression when they looked his way, followed by overcompensating with a nonchalant gaze and a weak smile, of course though, the blush that accompanied was always a dead give-away. It didn’t help that he was so modest with it, either- Louis had no doubt in believing that Harry had many an admirer.

“Harry?” Louis murmured as Harry looked away from the city skyline and at Louis, his eyes soft and open. He rose his eyebrows slightly, obviously waiting for Louis to continue in whatever he was planning to say. But Louis hadn’t exactly planned the rest of his sentence, he just felt the need to say his name out loud, a gravitational pull towards it if you like.  
Harry let out a soft laugh, dropping his head slightly and allowing his hair to fall over his face. Even in the darkness, Louis could see the dimples in Harry’s cheek deepening, and the kiss at the corner of his lips, curling inwards with the smile that graced his face.

Louis bit down on his lip, hard before looking at the watch on his wrist. It was late, in fact, it was almost tomorrow, technically. 

“Do you want me to take you home?” He asked and ran his fingers through his hair, the air was chilly and Louis was getting cold. He didn’t necessarily want to part ways with Harry, but if he took Harry home, then he could ride the buses till morning, and that would give him a bit of time to catch up on sleep.

“Yeah, I guess you could.” Harry gave a smile, a tired one at that and stood up, wobbling slightly before standing tall in front of Louis, holding his hands out and wriggling his fingers amongst the cold breeze. Louis watched him, delighted, before resting his hands on Harry’s palms, smiling as they closed around Louis’ and tugged him up to his feet. 

Harry let go of one of Louis’ hands, but he held on to the other- not saying a word, nor looking at him. Harry just held Louis’ hand and walked with him down the road to a bus stop.

Sitting on the desolated bus, at the back, the warmth of the engine below heating Louis’ seat, he couldn’t help but smile at the proximity of the two now. Harry had every seat on the bus available for his taking, and yet he sat next to Lou, right beside him, thighs touching, and fingers still intertwined.

He looked down at his hands, the inked cross that is etched in to his skin and the rings that brace his slender fingers and can’t help but feel warm. His hands, he thought, his hands. They fit his like a jigsaw piece and Louis felt like he was at home.

He didn’t remember falling asleep, or how his face became buried in the crook of Harry’s arm neck, but before he knew it, Louis was being woken by Harry’s hand gently shaking his shoulder.

“M’awake.” Louis murmured, lifting his head and rubbing his eyes, looking around at the unfamiliar places they were passing on the bus.

“I’m the next stop.” Harry whispered, gently patting Louis’ hand as he rested it in his lap and stood up. He held on to the bar of the bus and leant against it, his cheek pressed up against the cool metal as he watched Louis in a sleepy state of content.

“Oh.” Louis bit his lip and shrugged, trying his best to seem nonchalant. “Well, I’ll see you around then.” He shrugged again, struggling to swallow the lump in his throat. Where the hell was he? A frown formed on Harry’s face as he shook his head, reaching out for Louis’ hand again and giving it a tug as the bus came to a stop, causing Harry to tumble in to Louis clumsily.

“Won’t you come in with me?” He asked as he picked himself back up, subsequently pulling Louis with him off the bus, without really waiting for an answer. Louis was going to say yes anyway.

They stumbled off the bus, laughing quietly, hushed tones radiating through the cold winter night as Harry lead Louis down the damp street, hands intertwined and arms pressed together. He pulled Louis down a little street and stopped in front of a small house.

It was a quaint little building that seemed alive and welcoming, a warm ribbon of smoke rose from the old chimney that protruded from the thatched roof. The windows had wooden shutters and the door was small and made out of thick red wood.

The home didn’t match Harry in the slightest- he seemed so modern and new; he was an art student for Christ sake. This building had so much character and familiarity about it, Louis could imagine it giving him a hug- if houses could do such a thing. Harry pulled a small golden key from his pocket and opened the door, despite its size, it creaked and whined as Harry pushed it open with great struggle. He padded in and pushed off his shoes. To Louis’ amusement, Harry was wearing Christmas themed socks, filled with reindeers and Santa.

Louis followed him in and took his own shoes off, leaving them by the door before turning to see Harry already off, in another room. Quickly, Louis followed. The house wasn’t that big, as soon as you walked in, you were met with a thin winding stair case and a door to another room. There was no space for hallways or such. Louis followed Harry’s voice and stumbled in to the kitchen, a small warm room, with tiles and pots piling up.

“Tea?” Harry asked, glancing to Louis and smiling as he poured the steaming water in to two matching cups. “Can’t promise it’ll be as good as your little café, mind you.” He teased, smirking shyly. Louis chuckled and nodded, hovering by the door to the kitchen. He watched as Harry finished the tea and held both of the mugs, walking to Louis and cocking his head to follow as he walked past the front door and in to a cosy little room with a fireplace and a patched up arm chair and couch.

Harry went straight to the arm chair and fell in to it happily, chuckling and holding out a mug of tea for Louis, which he took with glee and sit on the couch- the side nearest to Harry.

“You live here?” Louis asked as Harry glanced around the room and nodded, smiling. 

“It was my nans, but when she died, my parents were going to sell it.” He frowned slightly, Louis shivered from the chill in the room and bit his lip. “So, I took it” Harry shrugged, stopping when he saw Louis shiver as he frowned and stood up, sitting beside him and grabbing the blanket that was draped over the back of the sofa. He wrapped it around the both of them and looked at Louis as he chuckled.

“Better?” he whispered as Louis glanced to him, their noses almost touching with proximity as he nodded. 

“Yeah.” He said softly and bit down on his lip, glancing at Harry’s own and holding back a whimper. He no longer felt the need to accomplish sleeping with him, he didn’t want to taint him. Now Louis had spent time with Harry, be it just a day- he felt close to him, strangely, and he didn’t want this to be a one night stand, not in the slightest.

Harry radiated warmth and comfort and Louis felt safe here, in a little cocoon, surrounded by a blanket and an art student.


	5. a simple beginning and a delicate end

They say that there is only one person on earth that is meant for you, and you alone. A soulmate so to speak, but in the purest of terms, where your hands touch and lightening over the south pacific erupts, or when you kiss and a mental firework explodes in to a thousand different colours over your head. Where finger touches and smiles are just as thrilling as the intimate touch. 

Supposedly, you only get one of them. 

Louis never believed that.

He had spent many a night with a random bloke who he had met that very day. He had also woken up many times in strange beds, with the smell of stale alcohol circulating the room and dusty sunlight burning his eyes. Up until now, he hadn’t minded that so much, it was just his way of living. And you don’t miss what you’ve never had.

But now, Louis was here with Harry, practically a stranger- but they were huddled on the small couch in Harry’s house, and the fire was burning and Harry blinked slowly as he stared at Louis, his eyelashes fanning out over his cheeks. And Louis was beginning to question his entire life.

“Harry.” Louis breathed out. He didn’t say it like a question, this time. He spoke with more confidence, as if he really did just want to say Harry’s name and feel it roll off his tongue and linger in the air.

“Louis.” Harry murmured and lifted his hand and rested it on Louis’ small cheek. Harry’s hand was surprisingly warm, and soft and it cupped Louis’ cold cheek so perfectly and the intimacy between them was near enough unbearable for Louis. “What’s happening Louis?” Harry asked, innocently, almost scared. Louis wondered if Harry had ever been with a boy before, or ever kissed anyone before.

But Louis couldn’t bear the tension anymore- he could feel Harry’s heat radiating off of him and could see his chest rising and falling shakily, filled with nerves. He didn’t want to see Harry nervous. Louis leant forward and brushed his lips against Harry’s. He could feel his breath hitch as his eyes fluttered to a close.

The next thing Harry knew, Louis’ lips were against his own and were moving slowly. Louis did something he had been longing to do since he met Harry this morning. He drifted his hands in to Harry’s hair, to the roots, and entangled his fingers amongst them and tugged on the hair. 

The kiss obliterated every thought. For the first time inn forever, Louis’ mind was locked in the present. The worries of the passing days evaporated like a summer shower on to a hot car. His usual mode of hurrying from one thing to the next was suspended, he had no wish for this kiss to end. Drunk on endorphins, Louis’ only desire was to touch Harry, to move his hands under his silk shirt and feel his perfect softness. 

In moments though, the soft caress had become more firm, he savoured Harry’s lips and the quickening of his breath matched Harry’s.

A kiss like this was a beginning, a promise of much more to come.

Harry was the first to pull away. His lips were red, they matched his cheeks. He stared at Louis and bit down on his lip as Louis went to speak. Harry lifted his finger and pressed it against Louis’ lips, shaking his head slowly and letting out a breath as he smiled. He watched Louis for a second before leaning back in, catching their lips in yet another kiss.

Louis awoke the next morning with the happiest feeling circulating in the pit of his stomach, he was pressed against Harry, face buried in the boy’s chest. Harry’s arm was draped around Louis in a protective stance, yet he was fast asleep, head tilted towards the ceiling and mouth parted ever so slightly.

Louis sat up and looked at the boy and took in his beauty. He didn’t want Harry to wake up and regret kissing Louis, or kick the strange boy out of his house. But Louis knew very well he couldn’t just stay here. 

Slowly, he took Harrys arm off of him and covered him with the blanket that was still draped around him as he sighed. He found a crumpled up envelope and a pen and scribbled his number down on it before slipping his shoes on and left, performing the same walk of shame he had done many a stale winter morning like this one.

Except this time, Louis hadn’t slept with anyone, but instead, he thought, he had fallen for someone. 

Which was just as bad.

He padded tiredly down the street, his feet making crispy sounds against the leaves that had frozen over. Before he could reach the bus stop, Louis heard a raspy, all together quite sleepy voice calling after him. 

He gripped his hair and spun around on his heels. Harry was running up to him, slipping slightly on the icy ground, his hands fumbling along beside him as he came to a halt in front of Louis, panting ever so slightly.

“Where are you going?” his face turned in to a frown and his hand clutched his chest, desperately trying to catch his breath. “Why d-didn’t you say goodbye?” he panted and frowned. Louis found himself smiling at the thought of Harry not wanting Louis to leave.

“I have places to go.” Louis sighed. He didn’t have anywhere to go. 

“Then let me come with you.” Harry whined. Louis bit his lip in thought. Before Louis could answer, he was back in the warmth of Harry’s house as he sat on his couch, listening to the boy fumble about upstairs, hopping from one foot to another as he tried to get dressed. 

“Okay.” Harry grinned as he stumbled down the stairs, his hands fumbling by his jeans as he did up the last few buttons and smiled at Louis. “It’s a jumper kind of day.” He teased. He wore a purple jumper that looked like it had been worn many times before.

Louis was overwhelmed by Harry. Constantly. He couldn’t remember a time where he looked at Harry and didn’t feel taken aback.

“Where are we off to then?” Harry asked, scraping his hair back in to a bun as he bit down on his lip, studying Louis slightly, his eyebrows knitted together. Louis didn’t know where they were off to. His plans for the day was wondering around the streets until the sun set. 

“I have to pop back to my house and grab a couple of things.” Louis said and stretched, hoping the mundane activity would put Harry off wanting to come with. But it didn’t. 

They sat on the bus together, hand in hand silently as Louis stared out of the dirtied window, watching as they travelled further in to the city, the buildings getting bigger and the roads, busier. Harry seemed un-phased by everything, as if nothing in the world could possibly bother him.

Sooner or later, the bus came to a halt at Louis’ stop- a dodgy street of which he had lived for many years, of worn down houses, smashed windows and Mr Dunns old corner shop at the end of the road, where he had bought many a cheap bottle of vodka. Louis hopped off the bus and glanced behind as Harry followed him, his eyebrows where knitted together slightly as he took in the street- it was nothing like where he lived, it wasn’t posh, or brushed with green grass and trimmed bushes- but snapped wooden fences and black bins tipped over displaying this week’s rubbish.

Louis saw the withdraw in Harry as he held out his hand and took the confused boys, holding it tightly and pulling him down the road. 

“Will you stay out here?” Louis asked. Harry bit his lip and evaluated the idea before nodding hesitantly as Louis gave a sigh of relief and jogged inside. The house was dirtier than when he left, there were more empty bottles on the floor and stale cigarette butts. 

Louis grabbed the last few items that were his that were still at the house, shoving them in a Sainsbury’s plastic bag, which was already ripped and torn. Louis jogged down the stairs and poked his head in to the living room, observing his ex, flat out across the couch, half empty bottle in one hand, mouth open and passed out.

Louis used to feel safe, and somewhat happy with this pig, but now, with the elegant art student waiting outside, Louis felt like this life was a hundred miles away from what he was used to. He tightened his grip on his bag and left. 

Harry, was sat out on the brick wall, one foot leaning against the floor- he had obviously figured out how unsteady the wall was and thought it’d be his best bet to balance on something. Maybe it was Louis’ imagination, maybe it wasn’t but as he shut the door behind him, Harry’s face lit up, his mouth breaking in to a smile. He stood up and wrapped his cold hand around Louis’ wrist, his finger discreetly brushing against the rope tattoo that braced Louis’ wrist.

“Let me take you home.” Harry asked, quietly, his voice full of hesitation and suddenly, Louis realised that Harry didn’t just want to go home, but actually do a little more. His breath hitched as he nodded slowly and watched Harry’s lips curl in to a gentle smile and felt a sensation of pure content wash over him gently. 

Harry gave Louis’ wrist a tug and pulled him down the street.

By the time they reached Harry’s front door, saying Louis was agitated would have been an understatement. The bus journey was slow, and Harry was sat ever so close to Louis, thighs touching and hand, strategically placed in his lap. But they were home, and Louis could feel his breath silently quickening, his chest rising and falling faster than it had been two minutes ago.

Harry pushed open the door and stepped inside, pulling louis close behind, not stopping to take his shoes off or set the keys down as he jogged up the crooked staircase, somewhere Louis had not yet ventured. 

He tugged Louis in to the door on the right to a woody looking bedroom with beams hanging low on the ceiling and a shallow bed pushed up against the window with grey ruffed bedsheets. It looked comfortable but looked even better once Harry collapsed down on it and kicked off his shoes and stared up at Louis, licking his lips. 

“Come here then.” He whispered. Louis obliged and pushed his shoes off, leaving them by the door and sitting beside Harry and looking at him. The proximity was intoxicating and Louis’ hand had already found its way to the back of Harry’s hair fisting it in anticipation as Harry pushed him down on to the bed and straddled his waist. Their lips hadn’t yet touched, but only grazed and lingered. It seemed as though Harry was admiring Louis, not wanting to begin yet, but just, take him in. His hair fell over his face and their noses touched and Louis knew this wasn’t going to be another mistake but instead, a work of art.


End file.
